by E.P. Rowsell, Esq.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.12 #1 (1847).
How it came to pass, no one could tell. Some hinted at the possibility of too much brandy-and-water prior to starting on his journey homewards; but was it credible that the grave and cautious Mr. Joshua Tubbs would at any time have committed the folly of suffering himself to be robbed of his customary calmness and composure by the influence of inebriating beverages, and especially with the prospect before him of a long walk home--and at night too—by the river-side? No one could believe that. Yet how came he into the river? Had he been thrown in? had he thrown himself in? had he tumbled in? It was no use spending time in idle conjectures, A coroner's jury, after occupying half-a-dozen hours or so in hearing all the evidence that could be adduced—listening to a fearfully protracted oration from the worthy coroner, and holding amongst themselves a stormy debate upon a variety of matters wholly unconnected with the question at issue, returned the very safe (if not satisfactory) verdict of "Found drowned." Then the public troubled itself no more about the premature demise of Mr. Joshua Tubbs.
But the decease of the said Mr. Tubbs was to one individual productive of certain important results, which I proceed to relate. The unfortunate gentleman, at the time that he bade farewell to earthly existence, held the highly responsible and respectable appointment of head clerk to the house of Messrs. Bubble Brothers, general merchants. His death caused of course this situation to become vacant. Now there were three persons who respectively considered they had strong claims for the appointment; and these three persons were three several clerks in the said house of Bubble Brothers—Mr. Reuben Gilchrist, Mr. Raymond Smallcloth, and my unworthy self, Mr. Frederick Adolphus Leslie. Many were the heart-burnings and jealousies which the clashing of these rival claims occasioned, and when it was announced that I was the successful candidate, I immediately concluded I had made for life two mortal enemies in the persons of my less fortunate companions. The manner of one of them towards me seemed to verify my supposition. Raymond Smallcloth openly declared that a great injustice had been done him; but with regard to my other rival, Reuben Gilchrist, so far from his betraying any resentment towards me, his manner was perfectly kind and cordial—he even, in most friendly terms, congratulated me on my success; and candidly acknowledged, that though he had opposed me from motives of self-interest, he had all along considered my claims to the vacant office to be superior to his own. This difference of manner naturally made me the firm friend and well-wisher of Gilchrist, whilst it caused me to regard Smallcloth with something of dislike and distrust.
One day a letter was received by the head of the firm containing tidings which caused him to give me instructions to leave town within a couple of hours. I prepared myself accordingly, and was just setting off from the office, when a person came in and paid me in cash the sum of 300l. on account of the firm. In my hurry I threw the notes into my desk loosely, intending, when I had made the necessary entries in the books, to pay the money over myself to Mr. Bubble; but it happened that at the moment, another person entering the office, engaged me in conversation, and immediately he had left, my attention was required by several other parties waiting. They having been duly attended to, I remembered something which I had forgotten to do, and which it was imperatively necessary should be done prior to my starting; this I had to set about directly, and the consequence of all such hindrances was, that I quite forgot about the payment that had been made to me, and the money that I had thrown into my desk.
I arrived safely at the place whither I had been sent—executed my business in the course of a couple of days—seated myself outside the fast-going coach, the "Safety" (alas! alas! what hath become of that famous vehicle!—there is not a coach on the road now—no, not one), and was quickly journeying back to London.
It was a bright and beautiful afternoon. The country around me was lovely in the extreme, and, accustomed as I was to the dark and dirty city, its vitiated atmosphere, and noisome smells, engaged, too, perpetually in its soul-contracting occupations, I revelled in the luxury of the pure air, striving to drink it in in mighty draughts, and fancying my whole frame grew lighter, stronger, and healthier every moment. I revelled, too, in the beauteous scenery around me. My eyes, habituated unceasingly to the poring over documents and papers, ledgers and day-books, rested upon green fields, and lordly edifices, and noble parks—hill and valley, and stream —with delight beyond expression. But the intoxication was soon over—ere long was London reached—we entered on the dreary region of bricks and mortar—I closed my eyes, and scarce opened them again till I was set down at my own door.
The next morning I went of course to the office of Bubble Brothers. It struck me as being odd that the porter, instead of as usual touching his hat to me on my entrance, grinned after a peculiar fashion. I passed him, however, without remark. But I was considerably astonished when my fellow clerks made little or no reply to my salutations, and I forthwith requested an explanation of the mystery. Before any could be given, however, the porter intimated to me with another devilish grin, that Mr. Bubble wished to speak with me in his private room. Anxious to learn the meaning of the strange behaviour shown towards me, I went in at once, and found myself in the presence of Mr. Bubble, his two younger brothers, and the other partner, Mr. Slimwood, all of whom regarded me for a minute fixedly, without speaking, with very grave countenances. At last Mr. Bubble, senior, spoke.
"Mr. Leslie—base and unworthy as has been your conduct—from my heart I am sorry for you."
I started violently; and the natural emotion caused by so alarming an observation, displayed itself in my countenance.
The circumstance was immediately turned against me.
"Say not a word in explanation, young man," continued Mr. Bubble; "your looks condemn you—conscious guilt is shown in your aspect." Then more sternly, "Your wicked fraud is fully discovered—you have nought to do but humbly to throw yourself on our mercy."
Then I got a word in, and expressing my astonishment at what I had heard, and my perfect guiltlessness of any thing calling for such remarks, I asked for an explanation of the alarming mystery.
"Have you any recollection, sir, of receiving on account of this firm, on the day on which you left town, the sum of 300l.?" inquired Mr. Bubble, senior, with great severity of manner.
The circumstance of this transaction before narrated, and my forgetfulness of it to the present moment, at once occurred to me, and I gave the whole particulars, expressing my regret that the matter should have escaped my memory.
"A well-contrived explanation, sir," was the reply, "but it will not avail you. Now, sir, I will give you a different version of the affair. Have the goodness, sir, to cast your eye over these entries."
Here he placed open before me two or three books kept by me, and pointed to some items appearing therein.
I advanced and examined the books, carefully noting the entries referred to. The blood mounted to my forehead immediately. Certain entries in a handwriting so exactly like mine, that I was quite staggered at the resemblance, appeared in the books, having the effect of defrauding the firm of the exact sum of 300l. Well might I say to myself, "an enemy hath done this." For some minutes, during which I felt the earnest gaze of the whole firm was upon me, I stood. motionless, still gazing at the books, in a state almost of stupefaction, yet knowing the while how likely it was that my behaviour would be construed as sure and certain evidence of conscious guilt. At last I did venture to look up, and the effort made, I met boldly the gaze of my judges.
"That there is here quite sufficient to justify the bringing this charge against me," I said, "I will readily allow, but I declare most solemnly that these fictitious entries relating to the sum of 300l. are not mine, though made in a handwriting so precisely similar to mine, that I confess I am utterly astonished. Some base person has adopted this plan to ruin me, and a foul and malicious one it is." I paused for a moment, and then continued, "But there is one thing I am glad of, which is, that I have the money safe in my desk, and will at once produce it."
"Pardon me, young man," said Mr. Bubble, senior, "the money is not in your desk. Neither, I will venture to say, was it ever put into your desk in the manner you describe. Upon the discovery of this fraud, my partners and I considered it requisite immediately to have your desk opened, and carefully examined in our presence, and no such sum was found in it." Here he whispered to his partners, and a momentary consultation was held between them. Then turning to me the old gentleman resumed, and the air of sorrowful severity with which he spoke affected me deeply. "Mr. Leslie, my partners and I are of one opinion—the only one which it is possible to form under the circumstances. You yourself admit that the books now before you, which you are accustomed to keep, show on your part a defrauding of the firm to the amount of three hundred pounds. When asked for an explanation you tell us about having received the amount alluded to in a hurry—having thrown the notes into your desk, and forthwith forgotten the whole transaction. Whether the first part of your story be true or not, is a matter of no consequence. The point is, the fraudulent entries—you solemnly assert they were not made by you, but must have been made by some malicious party designing to injure you. We cannot give credit to your defence, viewing its improbability, and considering also the circumstance of the money not being found where stated to have been deposited by you. Still, there being some doubt concerning your guilt, we refrain from any other proceeding than simply dismissing you from our service."
I was speechless—I could but bow, and rush out of the room like a madman. "They only take the view every one else would take," I thought, "and what can I say against it?" My own idea of course was very different. "That villain Smallcloth—that execrable wretch must have been in the office when I received the three hundred pounds, must have seen me throw the money into my desk, and noted my forgetfulness to make any entry of it in the books. Then with devilish art, when I was departed, he must have set himself to work, and used all his skill in penning the fictitious entries, and the completion of his villany would be easy enough, the desk was easily opened by a skeleton key, and the money abstracted. Thus at the same time he would satisfy his vengeance, which I felt sure he had ever hoarded against me, and enrich himself to the tune of three hundred pounds."
Snatching up my hat, and driving past the porter, whose diabolical grin had now expanded into a broad laugh, I darted into the street. I hurried on, doubtless thought by some to be a madman; loudly railed at by others as a drunkard; by all abused; by many cursed. Oh! how unsympathising is a crowd. Who cares for that man dashing onwards with wild eyes and mad excitement, neither looking to the right nor to the left, whose only object is to proceed with greater speed; he may have some dear relative dying—at the very last gasp, and may be flying to receive the parting word and last adieu—pshaw! the people soberly trudging their several ways, what have they to do with that? and why should they trouble themselves to move aside to let him pass more quickly. And the man whom sickness has assailed and conquered, whose journey to the grave now draweth very short, who scarce can totter along, see how he is knocked against and rudely pushed and scornfully regarded by the stout and strong. The deformed and maimed, too, how delighted is the crowd to greet them with the vulgar stare and coarse remark, and make them feel their imperfections. Oh, I hate the crowded streets at all times, but ever hate them doubly when my heart is heavy, and I am sad and sorrowful.
Away—away—up street—through court—down alley, as though life depended on it, I madly dashed, for the time, incapable of thought—only conscious of a dull heavy pain in the forehead, which rapidly increased. At length I stopped from sheer exhaustion and leant against a wall. Then, slowly, consciousness seemed to return; in time the occurrences of the morning displayed themselves vividly before my mental eye, and I was enabled to reflect upon them with some degree of calmness. I should perhaps have stated ere this that I had for some time held the affections of a young and beautiful girl who had promised to become my wife. It was a dreadful thought that which first arose within me—that she might credit this foul imputation, cast me off, and thus fill my cup of bitterness to the brim. To relieve this overwhelming anxiety, I flew to her at once.
I was soon at the house. The door opened—I dashed in, and was quickly in the presence of my Emily. She started at seeing me, and I perceived she had been weeping.
"You have heard," I gasped, "and you believe?"
"I have heard," she replied, "but no, no, I do not believe."
I murmured my thanks; and, sitting down beside her, I inquired how the evil news had so soon reached her.
An anonymous letter, she said, had been sent her, containing the statement that I had been, on the clearest evidence, convicted of an atrocious fraud, committed upon the firm in whose service I was—that I was at present from town, but was expected to return the next day or the day after, when the charge was to be brought against me, and when I should doubtless be dismissed with ignominy from my situation, and perhaps be prosecuted for the offence—that it was earnestly to be hoped that she would not be duped by any thing I might say in denial of the charge, but that she would take the right and proper part of casting me off for ever.
She had treated this letter with contempt, she said; but what was her amazement when, from a friend well acquainted with the Bubbles, she heard that its contents were substantially true! She had fearfully grieved; but, oh! her confidence in my integrity was perfectly unshaken. She doubted not my innocence for a single moment, and was still mine as wholly and as heartily as though no cloud o'ershadowed me, and no gloom encompassed.
I forgot all my miseries in the transport of joy with which I received this declaration, and it was then I asked to see the anonymous letter, so charged with malevolence. Emily gave it me. One glance showed me the handwriting of the detested Smallcloth—the wretch who seemed determined to hunt me down in every way. The discovery drove me almost frantic. Emily soothed me at last, and ere I left her I was quite calm, but my mind was made up, that, come what would, Smallcloth should not go unpunished.
I easily obtained from the office the information that he had left town for S— the previous night, and was not expected back for some days. To S-- I accordingly repaired, and roamed about the streets from morn till even, looking for my man in every direction with eager eyes. I did not search long in vain. In the evening of the day on which I arrived, I strolled out from the town, and ascended one of the bold and lofty mounts with which the place abounds. I had just gained the summit, when I beheld suddenly him whom I was seeking—Smallcloth—seated on the topmost ledge, gazing at the setting sun. It was a fit place for the stormy colloquy which I knew must ensue; and I was delighted to think that here I had him fast: I had found him in a place where I could tell him (yes, and if need be, force him to listen to me) all I had to say.
And all this I did tell him—straightway—forthwith—almost before he had recognised me. He started violently at first, and then stood as though amazed, and but half-comprehending what I said. He heard me patiently to the end, then coldly asked me "whether I were drank or mad?"
"Drunk!—mad!—wretch!" I almost shouted, "no, neither drunk nor mad, though with wits almost sent wandering by your heartless iniquity. Do you dare deny that your hand penned those false entries laid to my charge—that by you the money was abstracted from my desk—that you wrote that infamous letter to my —?"
"What in the name of Heaven do you mean?" he cried.
Fearfully aggravated by his duplicity, I reiterated my charge, with more minuteness, but with increased vehemence.
He heard me with perfect calmness, and when I had finished, said, "Hark ye, Mr. Leslie; whether you yourself have been guilty of fraud and embezzlement I know not—I will not judge you—but your endeavour to shift the charge to me, without the slightest ground, is utterly absurd: yet I would have you know I will not be thus insulted with impunity—so beware, sir. Begone now, if you are wise; and come to me at my lodgings at --, to-morrow, and perhaps I may be of service to you."
Oh, had I but followed his advice! But, in very truth, I was mad—stark mad—and knew not what I did. His speech—its patronising air--galled me beyond expression—he, the villain who had so injured me, thus to talk! I have but slight recollection of what followed. There was more altercation, growing higher and more vehement every moment, but whether it continued long or not I cannot say. I seem to remember that at last I lost consciousness of what I was saying, and began to talk at random; then Smallcloth turned and fled: I remember that; I followed him, caught him in an instant, and grappled with him fiercely. Here there is a gap—I believe that my senses for a brief space at this time forsook me utterly; but they seem to have been recalled by the dark, final catastrophe—a scream (the recollection of which even now almost freezes my blood) would appear to have been the summons for their return—and I awoke to a terrible consciousness of having hurled my unhappy adversary over the edge of the mount. I cast a shuddering glance down the dread declivity, but it was too dark to see that which I dreaded to behold. I drew back: it was almost impossible to think otherwise than that the miserable victim would be killed on the spot, and dreadful were my feelings. After a moment's irresolution I turned to fly; but, no, no, I could not, could not thus depart without ascertaining the fate of the unhappy man, atrociously as he had injured me. He might not be killed, but badly hurt perchance, in which latter case, life at all events might be saved, and I not have the stain of blood upon my hand and before my eyes for the remainder of my days. I descended the mount as quickly as I could, and was soon upon the spot where Smallcloth lay, motionless. Shuddering, I examined the prostrate form, and was seeking to ascertain whether it possessed life or no (no signs at first were visible), when I felt myself rudely grasped by the collar behind by some one exclaiming,
"Villain, you have murdered him!"
Doubtless the struggle on the mount had been witnessed by the third party, who thus held me in custody. Not a moment to be lost. In an agony of apprehension I wrestled so violently with my captor, that I freed myself from him and fled precipitately.
Ay, fled, fled as he alone can fly, who has before him liberty and life, behind him bonds and death. On, on, on, never stopping, never wearying, never looking back, with every energy aroused, every muscle strained, every faculty, both of mind and body fearfully in action. Away, away—what is that? Whence that sound? Pursuit, pursuit, 'tis the rattle of the chain, the fetter, anxious to encircle the limb and hold the guilty one fast—oh, how fast!—till the arrival of that day which, as bringing the execution of the murderer's doom, shall render its service henceforth needless. Did not that man passing by look fixedly? was there not some meaning in his stare? he must by some means—say not it were impossible—by some means or other, no matter how, have heard that a murder has been done, and have known that he was gazing on the murderer. Yes, yes, I am discovered—it is hopeless—no matter where I fly, what I do or what I say, I shall be taken, seized, and captive led, to a just, but fearful, doom. Such were my feelings as still I continued to fly the whole of that dreadful night. Morning dawned, and found me far away. The sun shone out and brightened the face of nature—I heard the songs of birds—I cast my eyes up to the bright blue sky—I felt the reviving air blow upon my fevered cheek, and then, shuddering, thought what a blot a murderer was upon the scene. I threw myself upon a bank, and with an inconceivable sensation of utter wretchedness wept bitterly.
Anon, I was on my feet again, and journeying onwards rapidly. My course of action was soon resolved on, to reach the nearest sea-port town, and take my passage in the first ship starting for any foreign land, I cared not where. I fortunately happened to have rather a large sum of money with me, so on that score there was no difficulty. A few days after and I was on my way to America.
Years have rolled by. See me now, reader, in the United States gaining a humble livelihood as a tradesman—never having been molested—knowing no great trouble—but settled in a deep melancholy, and without a hope of happiness this side the grave.
One morning a friend lent me an English newspaper. I had not seen one before since I left England. Almost the first thing that met my eye was, "Execution of Reuben Gilchrist for Forgery." I had almost forgotten the name, but soon recalled to memory my fellow clerk (of whose kind and friendly manner I have made mention) at Bubble Brothers. Much shocked that he should have come to so untimely an end, I read the account eagerly.
Having perused the particulars of the execution, conceive my utter amazement on coming to the following paragraph.
"We understand that the criminal, prior to undergoing his sentence, gave to the clergyman in attendance a sealed letter, requesting that it might not be opened till he was no more. His request was complied with. The paper afterwards proved to be a confession of the unhappy man of the numerous misdeeds committed by him during a long, and hitherto successful career of guilt and sin. Amongst other enormities, he confessed to having some years ago acted the villanous part of robbing the desk of a fellow clerk in the office of Bubble Brothers, London, of the sum of three hundred pounds, then making in the books, kept by the clerk alluded to (imitating his handwriting with such nicety as to defy detection), certain fictitious entries, giving the appearance of a deliberate fraud and embezzlement on the part of his victim, and (as a crowning point) proceeding forthwith to lay the books before his employers, pointing out the innocent clerk's apparent baseness, and receiving all credit for his acuteness in its discovery."
The paper fell from my hands. Could it be true? Reuben Gilchrist—not Raymond Smallcloth—the truth revealed—and justice done! Amazement! I read the paragraph again and again. There was no mistake, there it was plainly written. But, alas! the ecstatic joy on one account sobered, feelings of unendurable bitterness arose on another. The man who had not injured me I had punished with death, the hypocritical villain who had ruined me I had held in memory even to the present time with sentiments of respect and esteem. Oh how my heart was wrung at the recollection. I was about to throw the paper from me, when my eye, wandering mechanically over its columns, was arrested by an announcement, that Mr. Raymond Smallcloth, of 6, Lower Castle Street, Blackfriars, had just been united in matrimony to Sarah, eldest daughter of Samuel Salt, Esq., of Barbican.
He was not dead, then—not dead! I was no murderer, and no curse rested upon me. Wonderful discoveries in the space of half an hour! I could return to my own England, my own loved land, return to her—my Emily—who had doubtless pined and wasted, wept and mourned unceasingly since my departure; return to enjoyment the more bright and precious in contrast to the misery and wretchedness I had lately knows.
Again in England, my heart hounding and eye beaming with renewed hope, revived energies, restored happiness and peace.
I went straight to the office of Bubble Brothers, and was received by the worthy merchants with positive delight and expressions of the deepest regret for the error they had committed, and the evil I had suffered in consequence. The second clerkship in their office (and so greatly had their business increased of late years that this was now an infinitely better appointment than was the head clerkship in my time), fortunately had just become vacant, and I was installed in it at once.
It was with no little emotion that I again met Smallcloth, and shook the hand of the man with whom when last we were together I had been engaged in deadly strife.
I was beginning to mumble out something, I don't know what, but he, good-natured fellow, stopped me at once with,
"Think no more of it," kindly taking my hand, "all has come right at last, and we'll drop the subject at once and for ever.'
And so we did, and Smallcloth and I became the closest friends, and my Emily I found still, still my own, looking paler and thinner, certainly, but as beautiful and amiable as ever. Here was a termination of my troubles, henceforth my lot was indeed a happy one.